Midnight Knocking
by DreamNZ
Summary: A Chinese proverb says "Clear conscience never fears midnight knocking." What happens when midnight - and death - end up standing before the door for two people? Written for the 2010 NFA WEE.
1. Prologue

_A Chinese proverb says "Clear conscience never fears midnight knocking."_

_Sometimes midnight has to start knocking before we realize that there are things we need to say to each other. The key is to not let the door open before the words are said. If we're lucky enough to get the chance to clear our conscience we must take it. No matter what._

**PROLOGUE**

Blood pooled between his fingers, no longer seeping out like it had minutes before.

_This is my fault_.

The same substance dripped from his shoulder, slowly adding to the growing pool soaking into the fabric of his pants where he kneeled.

_I should've moved faster._

Pain shot down his shoulder and numbed his hands, but he kept constant pressure on the wound.

_I shouldn't be here._

A painful breath hitched in the chest of the man below his hands.

_He shouldn't be here at all._

He could see the other body out of the corner of his eye.

_This is my fault._

The other body wasn't moving at all.

He knew that the situation was desperate. One dead. One severely wounded. And the pain in his own arm was intensifying along the same rate the breaths of the bleeding body were decreasing.

Black dots danced before his eyes as his own not-insignificant blood loss caught up with him. His elbows buckled and he slumped over, his entire body now covering the bullet hole in the stomach of his co-worker.

"This never should have happened," he whispered to the wind before he gave in and welcomed the all-encompassing darkness with a bitter smile.

* * *

_Written for the 2010 NCIS Fanfiction Addiction Community's 2010 White Elephant Exchange. Based off a prompt from channeld._


	2. Chapter One

Wednesday mornings varied in the MCRT. Sometimes they were hectic - especially when they were in the middle of a case. Other times they were filled with the paperwork that indubitably came with the completion of a case. And others were just plain boring - where the hours dragged endlessly towards the end of the day which officially marked halfway through the workweek.

This particular Wednesday morning was a hectic one for the team. Various ring tones had dragged them out of bed at a little after four in the morning- a Jewish rock song for Ziva, a jazz song for Tim, and a warning klaxon for Tony - to investigate a partially dug-up body in a park.

A Marine - identified by dog tags - had been stripped down, sliced and diced just days before. (Bernie - the discoverer of the body - pranced around with tail wagging, happy to have helped. George - Bernie's master - swore off early morning runs for the rest of his life.) Ducky was quick to point out that the slicing and dicing part had been done after death, seeing as no blood was involved. He suspected poison for the original cause of death, but of course wouldn't yet put an official word in.

The team was sitting at their desks by 7 in the morning, hugging mugs of coffee, tea or hot chocolate, trying to steal a few minutes to warm up before Gibbs arrived back from signing over evidence to Abby. He would start barking orders and they would be forced to jump to attention and move around like they'd had more than two to five hours of sleep.

Down in autopsy Ducky and Jimmy were meticulously going over every inch of the body, documenting each precise slice.

"Ducky?" Jimmy said, surprised he had to break the silence. Usually Ducky was rather chatty, but he did look quite tired this morning.

"Hmm?"

"Do these cuts remind you of anything?"

Ducky peered over his glasses at Jimmy, eyebrows raised.

"Should they, Mr. Palmer?" Ducky asked, slightly annoyed that Jimmy was calling in to question his observational couldn't help but blush at the tone and scrambled to make an excuse.

"I was just wondering, Dr. Mallard. It's just that you're really quiet this morning."

Ducky sighed.

"It was a long night, Mr. Palmer, and too early of a morning."

And thus it began.

Because the day before had been his mother's birthday, Ducky's night was rough. He missed his mother terribly and had been unable to fall asleep, until his phone had rung at four in the morning. And because he was tired, he was a tad bit annoyed with his assistant.

Jimmy had been Ducky's assistant for many years, and yet at times he was still unsure if he belonged - if he truly had a place in NCIS. So with Ducky obviously a bit annoyed with him, he kept his mouth shut.

To Jimmy the cuts on Lance Corporal David Jackson looked like someone had been practicing incisions. All were precisely 10 centimeters long, and none went very deep.

It reminded him of practicing on the skin of oranges with his classmates in medical school. They would get together and make cuts of various lengths and depths and then pass their orange off to someone else - who would then have to suture the cut. It was a fun way to practice necessary skills. And, of course, a delicious snack awaited them when they were done mocking each other's attempts.

But there had also been Gross Anatomy - treated with much less levity, but nonetheless important to their schooling. One after another the med students cut into flesh of their cadaver, carefully making the incisions in the appropriate places for various surgeries.

By the end of the class the cadavers looked much like the Lance Corporal before him.

But obviously it was just a coincidence, or else Ducky would have noticed it too.

So when Jimmy saw no less than five incisions that had distinctive abnormalities - at about nine centimeters in the cut would suddenly go several centimeters deeper and veer off to the right - he just cataloged them for Ducky and continued on. He ignored the niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach that not only were these cuts significant - but he knew why they were.


	3. Chapter Two

By two that afternoon Tim was about five seconds from trying to clothespin his eyes open. He'd finally managed to fall asleep at about 1:30 that morning and he was not doing well on just over two hours of sleep.

He would never tell his teammates he had been playing a game - although he was sure they suspected - and he would definitely never tell them he'd only been playing in order to spend a little time with his sister. Sarah was out in California for the semester and they rarely connected. She also rarely remembered the time difference that he had to deal with but he was loath to remind her. She had been so busy lately that he took whatever time he could to catch up with his little sister.

Therefore he really wished he was out with Ziva and Tony talking to Jackson's fellow Marines. Instead he was about to make his twenty-sixth phone call of the day, trying to track down all of Jackson's out of town relatives. At the same time he was searching the Marine's financial records, trying to find something - anything - out of place. He'd only been able to reach five of Jackson's relatives, and it was wearing telling people that their loved one had died - and oh, by they way - do you have any idea why he would be sliced up like a fancy carrot?

Tim's hand was on his handset when it rang. He startled for a brief moment before answering.

"Agent McGee."

_"Err… I'm looking for Agent Gibbs."_

Tim looked across the desk and saw that Gibbs was apparently still up in MTAC, probably talking to some of Jackson's superiors that were currently overseas.

"He's not available at the moment. This is Agent McGee - I'm on Gibbs' team."

There was a sigh of relief.

_"This is Officer Kennedy with Metro. We were tipped off that you have a Marine that's been used as a cutting board."_

Tim's eyebrows lowered at the callous remark - even though he had been thinking along similar lines just moments before.

"That's confidential information Officer Kennedy."

_"What if I were to tell you that I have eight files with very similar cutting board cases sitting in front of me right now?"_

Tim thought for all of two seconds."I would tell you that our case is confidential. But, if you happened to send us those files we might be able to talk further."

_"Uh - well, actually, all the files are hardcopies. My boss doesn't really trust computers and insists that any work be done with 'paper in hand.' I'd have to bring the files over."_

Tim was torn between amused camaraderie with this man who also had a difficult technophobe boss, and dismay at the thought of having to go through eight case files manually. The former won out.

"Believe me, I understand," Tim said, biting back a smile. "Bring down the files and we'll take care of it."

_"All right! I can be down in about two hours. That work for you?"_

Tim looked at the clock - and mentally sighed. It was going to be a very long day.

"Sounds good. See you then."

He hung up the phone and rolled his shoulders to try to release the tension that was building up.

"What was that, McGee?"

Gibbs had once again snuck up on him and it took all he had in him not to jump an inch out of his chair. Instead he casually swiveled his chair until he was looking up at Gibbs.

"That was an Officer Kennedy from Metro. Somehow they heard about our Lance Corporal. He'll be down around four with eight case files that are supposedly similar to ours. According to him they were all cut up like they were being used as cutting boards."

Gibbs stared him down for several long moments before nodding.

"Okay. You're in charge of that."

"Yes Boss."

Tim turned back to finish his phone calls and tried not to despair. He'd sleep again. Eventually.

Hours later Tim found himself still immersed in the information Officer Kennedy had dropped off. Metro had been dealing with their unimaginatively named Cutting Board Killer for almost a year now, and they were eager for help. Officer Kennedy, however, had just signed over the files and bid him good luck - claiming he had a lot to do and his boss trusted NCIS to handle their files appropriately. Tim had gamely dived into the information.

There seemed to be no rhyme or reason for the victims CBK choose aside from the fact they were all from the D.C. area - but there was no doubt in his mind that it was indeed the same killer.

Each victim had been cut from head to toe, front to back, in precise ten centimeter cuts - each about an inch apart - to mix measurements. The cuts were made after the victim had died and the means of death varied from victim to victim, but was always as bloodless as possible. In fact the very first victim - strangled with piano wire - was the only victim that must have bled before dying. There may have been some cuts on other victims from defensive wounds, but it was almost impossible to tell because each victim had been thoroughly cleaned after death.

The deaths began a year and seven months before Lance Corporal David Jackson was killed.

The first victim was a 35-year-old woman. Blonde hair, blue eyes, physically fit. Single, never married and childless. She had been a teacher, last seen leaving the school parking lot.

From there nothing was similar. The ages ranged from 20 to 85. The victims were male and female; fat, thin and everywhere in between; attractive and not-so-attractive; rich, poor and middle class; employed and unemployed; single, married, and divorced; no children, one child, many children. They had been strangled, poisoned, had their necks broken, their heads smashed in. The victims had disappeared from their jobs, their homes, the gym, running errands, in the park, shopping. There was nothing to link the victims. None of them knew each other. They didn't shop in the same stores, work in the same places, go to the same schools.

All leading up to the death of Lance Corporal David Jackson. Jackson had been 25 and had last been seen leaving the local recruitment office. He had been there for only five minutes and it had been a spontaneous trip to run some paperwork over to the officer stationed there. That had been the end of his day and he was to go home afterwards. He never made it home to his wife and two-year-old daughter.

Tim found it pretty easy to see why the Metro cops were stumped - he was beyond confused himself. He had been reading case files, staring at photos and manually crosschecking information for more hours than he cared to think.

His eyes were burning from exhaustion and he had long ago given up on coffee - it just wasn't helping anymore. As he sightlessly stared at a photo he considered sprawling on the conference room floor and taking a nap. But while the thought was still new in his mind sleep stole over him and his head dropped gently on to the desk. And he was out.


	4. Chapter Three

Tony was not in the best of moods when he walked back into the office at 6:30 Thursday morning.

Gibbs had sent Ziva and him home at midnight and he had been planning on crashing right away. But instead he had spent half the night talking to his father who happened to call, knowing that Tony would still be up. They had been trying to improve their relationship, but it was hard to do when he knew that just about every word out of his father's mouth was a lie.

Oftentimes his father wanted to talk about woman - those that he claimed were in his life and asking about the women in Tony's life. He received more information about his father than he wanted to know, and he wasn't willing to give the information that his father wanted to know. (He suspected the old man was really trying to live vicariously through his ridiculously good-looking son.)

For once Tony got right down to work. He was still working on trying to suss out exactly where Jackson had spent his time while a Marine - which bases and the such.

When he finally looked up from his computer he found Ziva with her handset pressed between her ear and shoulder as she typed away at her computer. Gibbs was at his computer, reading something on his monitor. And Tim - was no where to be seen.

"Where's McGee?"

Ziva's eyes flicked over to him, but of course she couldn't answer. Gibbs looked up and glared at the empty desk.

Tony easily recognized the look - I'm-going-to-kill-my-agent - since it was normally aimed at him. He felt a surge of glee that Tim was going to be on the receiving end - whenever he happened to show up.

"His bag is here," Ziva pointed out as she hung up the phone.

Tony leaned a bit to the right and sure enough Tim's bag was under his desk. He didn't even question how Ziva knew that.

Looking at Tim's bag something began to dawn on him.

"Uh, when was the last time you saw him yesterday?"

Ziva thought for a moment.

"About five, I believe. Why?"

Tony couldn't help but laugh as he leapt out of his chair. He just knew he would find Tim in the conference room that he had disappeared into around 4 the day before. He was eager to see if his Probie was a living zombie yet, or if he would be providing any photo opportunities by being asleep.

Photo opportunity it was.

Tony slowly opened the door to the conference room that Tim had taken over the day before. Files were strewn across the table, boxes were sitting in chairs, and Tim was sleeping, cheek pressed against a photo laying on the table.

After snapping several photos Tony snuck up, getting ready to scare his Probie awake, when he saw the photo, and a large grin spread across his face.

"Was he good for you?" Tony whispered into Tim's ear.

Tim shifted at the sensation, and would have fallen back asleep if his internal alarm clock didn't start blaring. So instead he blinked his eyes open sleepily and lifted his head up with great effort. Looking down he found himself face-to-face with the pale face of a very obese dead man.

That woke him up. He sat up straight and looked around to find Tony standing next to him, an evil smirk on his lips.

"Aw, little Probie finally got some. It's a shame you have to resort to old fat dead guys though, but I guess that's really all you're worth."

Tim glared at Tony in disgust and then started to gather the photos and papers back together, making sure they stayed with their separate files. A stray thought flitted across Tim's mind and he turned to look at Tony once again.

"Hey, did you go home last night?"

Tony grinned.

"Yup! Boss sent Ziva and me home around midnight."

Tim blinked at him in disbelief for several beats.

"He let you guys go and left me here?" He finally said, more than a bit shocked.

"I don't know why you're so surprised, McGeek. Out of sight, out of mind."

With that Tony turned and walked away - wincing to himself as he walked. Even in his bad mood he realized that had been more than a bit cruel. In fact, the whole exchange had been. But he wasn't about to go apologize, so he just continued on to let Gibbs and Ziva know he had found Sleeping McUgly.

In the meantime Tim was standing there trying to not let Tony's words bother him, but at the same time, he couldn't help but wonder why Gibbs would forget that he was in the conference room. After all, he was the one that made him go through all the information.

He was finally able to shrug it off as best he could and grabbed the handcart so he could lug all the files at once without breaking chain of evidence. He was planning on bringing them down to Abby so she could watch over them. He wasn't done with the files but he had to let his team know what he had discovered. Or, really, not discovered.

But first on his list of things to do was a shower and a change of clothes - whether Gibbs liked it or not.

* * *

Gibbs would admit - only to himself - that he was a bit disconcerted when Tim stormed into the bullpen, grabbed his spare change of clothes from his drawer and shot him a glare before leaving the same way he came - with a large chip on his shoulder.

"What is wrong with McGee?" Ziva asked.

The same question that Gibbs was asking himself, although in his mind a few swear words had been thrown in.

"He's a little cranky from sleeping on the case files from Metro all night," Tony answered, glee in his voice.

"He did not go home?" Ziva asked.

"Nope," Tony answered before his ringing phone.

That was news to Gibbs. He could've swore that Tim had been sitting at his desk same as Tony and Ziva when he told them to go home. Then again, he had been reading a file at the time and had only breezed through the bullpen on his way down to autopsy to take another look at Jackson's body.

He mentally shrugged. So his agent was a little miffed. What harm could that do?


	5. Chapter Four

Jimmy never fancied himself an investigator. He didn't want to have to crawl through mud and muck and gunk and junk in order to look for the minutest traces of evidence. He didn't want to have to analyze blood splatter over large areas or interview grieved relatives. And he definitely never wanted to be in a car with Gibbs or Ziva.

No - he was happy dealing with bodies. Concentrating on fingers and toes, intestines, hearts and brains. Analyzing bumps, bruises, scrapes, gaping holes and jagged cuts - trying to solve the puzzle of a person's last moments of life. That was what he was good at doing.

All the same though something was niggling at the back of his mind. If he had been an investigator he would've said that he gut was trying to tell him something. And that something had to do with the slices on Lance Corporal Jackson that had veered off from the norm.

He had noted the abnormalities in his report and he knew Ducky had read it, but not a word had been said. Ducky had been a medical examiner for many years, so if he didn't think the cuts were significant, then they probably weren't.

But his gut was screaming at him so loudly that when he ran into a damp Tim in the lower level bathroom - which held showers for when those in autopsy had to deal with a more unpleasant body - he couldn't help but ask the amiable agent for advice.

"Hey McGee," he greeted the man who was standing in front of the sinks staring at his reflection.

He received a grunt in reply.

Okay - so _normally_ amiable agent.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine, Palmer," he snapped before going back to trying to get his hair to behave.

Now Jimmy was torn between asking Tim for help and getting the heck away from the grouchy man.

He decided that today was a day to be brave.

"Uh - could I ask you for some advice?"

Tim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He let it out slowly and then turned away from the mirror and leaned back against the sink.

"Sure," he said, and he did sound like he was open to whatever Jimmy had to say.

"It's about the Lance Corporal Jackson case. There's something about the cuts all over him that reminds me of something, but I'm not sure what. Ducky hasn't seemed to notice anything about them. I'm not sure if I should pursue my gut feelings on this or if I should just leave it be."

Tim wasn't really given time to think about it for his cell rang and reverberated incessantly around the echoy bathroom. The caller ID said GIBBS and his bad mood rushed back full force.

"Look Palmer," Tim replied distractedly, "Ducky's been doing this for many years. If he didn't think what you had to say was important then it's probably not. Don't dismiss it entirely but don't worry about it too much - developing a gut for these things takes time."

Tim gave him a tight smile before he took one last look at his uncooperative hair and then stalked out of the bathroom.

Jimmy stared after him for quite a while, torn between wanting to tell his gut to shut up and wanting to run after Tim to remind him that he had been around NCIS just as long as he had and maybe - just maybe - his gut had already developed.

"Oh, shut up."

Talking to his gut won out.

By lunch time Jimmy decided that he needed to cheer himself up. Therefore a trip to the lab to see Abby during his lunch break was a definite must.

"Jimmy! Come in! Come in!" Abby said when she saw him standing in her doorway. He had been watching her analyzing a sample of something. Or - to be exact - he had been watching her bounce along to her music while analyzing a sample of something.

"Hey Abs. Whatcha doing?" Jimmy asked as he stepped fully into her lair.

"I'm trying to figure out what was in the dirt trapped in the plastic that was wrapped around Lance Corporal Jackson. I'm hoping it'll narrow down where he was killed." Abby turned back to her computer as it gave her some results. "So far Mr. Mass Spectrometer has found plants that are uniquely native to Virginia."

"Really?" Jimmy said, stepping up behind Abby to peer over her shoulder. "I thought all the murders took place in the D.C. area."

"Yeah, but that doesn't preclude the chance that the murderer used materials from elsewhere. Like maybe the shovel came from his place of work or the plastic that was wrapped around Jackson was used in a compost heap in his backyard - something like that."

"Oh. Virginia's still a huge area though."

Abby glared at him over her shoulder.

"I know that, Palmer. That's why I'm still looking for that one thing that will be unique enough to pinpoint a location."

Jimmy backed away from Abby and instead turned to look at the boxes that were taking over her space.

"Are these the case files from Metro?"

"Yeah," Abby said distractedly as she concentrated on her computer.

"Can I take a peak at the autopsy reports?"

Abby shrugged. "Sure, just don't take them out of here and mark down that you looked at them."

"Will do," Jimmy said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. For some reason no one ever seemed to remember that he did actually know procedure.

He started with a random box and pulled out the autopsy report for a 53-year-old woman. He scanned the notes, looking to see if any abnormalities in the cuts had been noted, but saw nothing. Then he pulled out the photos.

He saw it right away. On the close up of the woman's shoulder there was one cut that jagged to the right. He looked through the rest of her photos and found six other instances.

He carefully packed the photos away and moved on to another box. And then another and another until he had gone through all eight of them. Five of the reports noted the inconsistencies of some of the cuts, and the other three didn't. But when he examined the photos all eight victims had the slightly odd jagged cuts.

He periodically glanced at Abby, but she wasn't paying any attention to what he was doing, and he was glad. He wasn't sure what to tell her. He knew that this was significant, but if a number of medical examiners and countless Metro officers didn't think it was important, maybe they were right. It wasn't odd for him to be wrong.

"Yesyesyesyes!"

Abby's enthusiasm brought Jimmy from his thoughts.

"What is it, Abs?"

"Cephalotaxus harringtonia!"

"Umm… what?"

"Cephalotaxus harringtonia! Japanese Plum Yew - found only in Augusta County, Virginia! It's narrowed down far enough that Gibbs should be able to capture this bastard - whoever he is - sooner rather than later. Isn't that great Palmer?"

Abby turned to hug Jimmy, but found her lab empty.

"Now, where did he go?"


	6. Chapter Five

"_Augusta County, Virginia."_

Jimmy had been there before. A former medical school classmate of his had a family cabin in a small town there, and had often invited his fellow students to go visit during the weekends to party. Jimmy had gone a couple of times and always had a blast.

But it wasn't the county or the cabin he was thinking of - it was the former classmate.

Jonathon McCrady was a fun guy, a brilliant student, and the best classmate possible. He was always top of his class - and always the first to help a fellow student understand a concept. He was also one of the few who went into medical school knowing just exactly what he wanted to do - and never changed his mind.

Jonathon had wanted to be a surgical oncologist since he was a freshman in high school and one saved his mother's life. He wanted to dive into the human body and slash away at mutant cells that dared to turn against their own host. He wanted to be the hero of a 15-year-old boy and inspire him to become a surgical oncologist when he grew up.

The first year of medical school - the one that will make or break a student's future - Jimmy had been lucky enough to be in a group with Jonathon during Gross Anatomy. While one knew the body inside and out, the other had the fortitude to handle cutting into the flesh of someone that had once been alive. Jonathon had seen right away that Jimmy had issues with pressing scalpel to flesh, so one day he plopped down across from Jimmy in a quiet corner in the medical library.

Jimmy still remembered Jonathon's words.

"_Jimmy, you've got to stop thinking of Cad as a really lifelike mannequin like Beth said she does. Yeah, I know that's what you're doing. Jimmy, that man - whatever his name really is - when he died he gave his body to the university so that you and I can learn to be better doctors. Don't dishonor his memory by pretending he's anything other than what he is - a good man who's last deed is helping us."_

Jimmy also remembered the first time Jonathon made an error in Gross Anatomy. It was slight and something that he didn't even get marked down on. The instructor hadn't even noticed until Jonathon had pointed it out. "I slipped," he had said as he showed the instructor the centimeter long veer to the right in his incision. He was told not to worry about it but to never do it again.

But Jimmy had seen the twitch in Jonathon's hand. Had seen Jonathon look at his hand in puzzlement before shaking it out and continuing on. He had also seen the same thing happen several more times throughout the year, but it went unnoticed because Jonathon never pointed it out again. Jimmy didn't want to rock the boat by pointing it out himself.

"_Augusta County, Virginia."_

As soon as the words left Abby's mouth, Jimmy remembered. And he knew. He knew that it had to be Jonathon.

Why he was now on his way to his cabin without having told anyone where he was going, he wasn't completely sure. He was impulsive like that sometimes, but mostly he thought that maybe no one else would believe him. And maybe he was wrong. Maybe it wasn't Jonathon. He was a good person, not particularly prone to violence.

Except that over two years ago he had punched the Chief of Surgery at the hospital he was doing his residency at, and had been let go.

Jonathon had scrubbed in on an esophagectomy. He was a respected and trusted resident and sometimes was allowed to help out on a tougher procedure. That day his attending decided to let him make the first couple of cuts into the esophagus. It was everything Jonathon ever wanted - to actually help out in cutting a cancerous mass out of a body.

He had cut in - and then twitched. The descending thoracic aorta is right next to the esophagus.

It had been a bloody mess and ultimately the attending was unable to save the patient - all while Jonathon stood back and watched at what he had done. Watched as his dreams and ambitions bled away. So when he was called in to speak to the Chief of Surgery he assumed his residency was being terminated. And he snapped. He punched the Chief of Surgery twice, and then walked calmly out of the hospital.

Charges had been pressed, but the McCradys were a very wealthy family and eventually everything was settled out of court. And Jonathon disappeared from everyone's radar to go live in his family's cabin.

NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS

Jimmy hadn't been to the McCrady cabin in four years, and he had never been the one to do the driving. He made more than one wrong turn - turning the hour and fifteen minute drive into a much longer one. But he eventually made it to familiar territory and found himself pulling up alongside a cabin that was only a cabin in the same sense that the Taj Mahal was a house.

For the first time in his journey he got out his cell phone. He hadn't been thinking straight on the drive up - and then he was too busy trying not to end up completely lost to even think about his phone. He found six missed calls - four from Ducky and two from Abby. He rolled his eyes. Of course - _now_ there was no signal.

He threw the phone back on his seat and made his way to the front door. He knocked several times and stepped back to see if there was any movement within. He bounced on the balls of his feet, trying to warm up. A chill permeated the air and with every exhale a vapor wisped away from him.

When nothing stirred he stepped back to the door and pounded on it with the side of his fist. He was prepared to sit on the porch and wait for Jonathon, but then he heard gunshots from behind the cabin.

He ran around the left side of the building to the back, not sure what he was meaning to do. Attack Jonathon and save whomever he was killing? Not very likely. But he ran anyways.

Only to find his former classmate shooting targets set up in the backyard.

Jonathon must have seen something out of the corner of his eye for he spun on his heel and soon Jimmy had a gun pointing at him.

For several long moments Jimmy knew what it felt like to stare down the barrel of a gun. Jonathon was no more than twenty feet away and would be unlikely to miss. But soon he was lowering his gun and a smile was spreading across his face.

"Jimmy Palmer? Is that you?"

"Yeah. Hey Jonathon. How's it going?"

Jonathon shrugged. "Been better. What are you doing here."

"Uh…"

That's when Jimmy realized that he really didn't have a plan. He had come here to find out if he was right or not. If he was wrong then they would probably have a big laugh about it. If he was right - well then, he had probably just stepped onto the scene of his death.

"I was in the neighborhood."

The words slipped from his mouth, even as he realized how ridiculous they were.

"Oh, really?" Jonathon said, eyeing his scrubs.

Jimmy shook his head.

"No."

"Then what are you doing here Jimmy?"

Jimmy couldn't think of anything to say. Ever so slowly Jonathon's eyebrows lowered and his face attained a less than pleasant visage.

"You're still working part time at NCIS, aren't you?"

Jimmy froze - unable to make any movement.

"You worked on the autopsy for Lance Corporal Jackson, didn't you?"

For several moments Jimmy didn't do or say anything. Finally he nodded.

"He was very obliging, wasn't he? Did you remember to thank him?"

Jimmy's mind flashed to all the time he spent with Ducky and how Ducky was able to psychoanalyze any one - dead or alive. Almost before he realized what he was doing he was talking.

"Did _you_ remember to thank Lance Corporal Jackson?" he asked.

"Of course, you know me! You don't even have to ask."

"Was he… obliging for you?"

Jonathon smiled.

"Oh yes. He lay perfectly still as I practiced on him."

Jimmy forced himself to remain calm as he began to realize how crazy his former friend had become.

"What are you practicing for, Jonathon?"

The smile fell from Jonathon's face and a look of sadness replaced it.

"To be a doctor again, Jimmy. I'm no good if I'm not a doctor. If I can just figure out how to anticipate when I'm going to twitch then everything will be okay. And I'm close Jimmy - so close."

Jimmy forced himself not to turn away in disgust and to continue on.

"How did you get Lance Corporal Jackson to … be so obliging?"

Once again a smile spread over Jonathon's features. Jimmy found it frightening how soft and gentle the smile was.

"200 mg of laudanum. I met Lance Corporal Jackson in a bar. He was still in his uniform so I bought him his second drink in honor of him being a Marine - a nice dark stout. He didn't notice a thing. He was a good man, Jimmy. A good man. I'm sure he's pleased to know that his last deed was to help me become a doctor again."

The words from the past echoed back in Jimmy's mind and he couldn't help but gag. Jonathon didn't even seem to notice.

"You're a good man Jimmy, aren't you?"

Alarm bells rang throughout Jimmy's head and his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach and sat there and churned. He hesitated for a moment before shaking his head.

"Yes, you are. Don't deny it! You're a good man, and your last deed will be a good one, I promise."

Jonathon raised his gun back up.

"I - I don't like making marks - it gives me less space to work, but I'll try not to let it hurt, I promise."

The sound of the gun was loud in Jimmy's ears, but was quickly overshadowed by a searing pain in his right shoulder. He automatically clasped his left hand over the wound. He was surprised he was still on his feet.

"Huh. Sorry Jimmy! I'm not used to doing this with people. Just stand still, it'll be over soon," Jonathon said, beaming cheerfully.

His mind was screaming at him to move, but Jimmy was paralyzed, once again staring down the barrel of a gun.

A shot rang out as Jimmy felt a force shove him to the ground. And there he lay, staring up at the sky as snowflakes began to float down upon the scene.


	7. Chapter Six

Tim's day didn't improve very much after he returned to the bullpen. He had gotten stuck at his computer running in depth background checks on each of the CBK victims while Tony and Ziva were sent out of the building. They were to re-interview the family and friends of the first eight victims to try to find the link between them all - despite Tim's insistence that the very fact they had no link was the link. It was as if it was all random on purpose.

They checked in occasionally, asking him to run a search on this or that, and he asked if they had found anything in common. Tony had laughed once and said, "Well, they're all the nicest person in the world. Does that count?"

Tim had rolled his eyes and hung up on him before starting the three searches Tony had requested. That brought the total to twenty-four searches running on his computer. Too many more and he'd have to start using Tony's computer. Tim smirked to himself - it would probably the first time the computer had ever actually been used for work.

"McGee!"

Tim still had no idea how Gibbs could appear out of thin air and suddenly be standing right before his desk.

"Boss?"

"Have you completed those background checks?"

"Most of them. Nothing unusual or criminal in any of the backgrounds of the victims Metro had been dealing with. Tony and Ziva have called in several times and they're coming up with nothing significant, but they are having me run some searches on extra financial and family information they dug up that they weren't sure if we had already."

Gibbs stared at him for awhile and Tim could only hope that it was good enough for him.

"What about the rest of the background checks?"

"Still working on those."

"Get them done. I'll be in MTAC. Come and get me when Tony and Ziva get back - but otherwise I'm not to be disturbed."

Tim watched Gibbs take the stairs two at a time and join up with a serious-looking Vance. They headed into MTAC together.

Once Tim was sure he was alone he let his head bang down on to his desk.

"I've gotten six background checks done and I'm running over twenty searches," he mumbled to himself. "Is _nothing_ good enough for that man?"

His phone rang and interrupted his mental answer - which would have been an emphatic NO!

"Agent McGee," he said, not all that enthusiastically.

"_Ah, Timothy. I was hoping I might be able to get you to come down here to help me."_

Tim brightened up. Doing something else - anything else - would be a gift right about then.

"Sure Ducky, I'll be right down."

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Ducky wanted to see the Metro victims all spread out so fifteen minutes later Tim found himself in the middle of putting together his second photographic autopsy puzzle.

"As soon as Jimmy returns from visiting Abigail I can let you return to your duties, Timothy."

"I really don't mind, Ducky. I needed a break from what I was doing."

Ducky, back to his normal perceptive self, noticed the tone in Tim's voice, but temporarily dismissed it when he was able to finish up another photographic body. He began on a new victim and the idea to question Tim about what was wrong slipped completely from his mind.

Tim repressed a sigh. He really wanted to talk about his day. Starting with waking up, right up to just before Ducky called it, had been horrible. From being forgotten in the conference room by Gibbs and thus oversleeping and being harassed by Tony, to being unfairly rude to Jimmy, to being used like a puppet to obey Gibbs' every whim while his beloved golden agents were out in the field.

Tim shook his head and tried to banish the downtrodden and whiny thoughts. Instead he went back to the one thing that day which had been his fault.

"Ducky?"

"Hmm?"

"What was it that Palmer saw in Lance Corporal Jackson's cuts?"

Ducky didn't say anything for several moments. Tim looked up to find the doctor looking at him, puzzled.

"What do you mean?"

"Palmer and I ran into each other in the bathroom this morning. He said his gut was telling him something about the cuts but that you didn't think there was anything specifically interesting about the cuts themselves. I was just wondering what it was he thought he saw."

Ducky shook his head.

"Mr. Palmer never mentioned the cuts to me."

Ducky walked over to his desk and grabbed Jackson's preliminary autopsy report and scanned it.

"Hmm."

Tim walked over to peer over Ducky's shoulder.

"What does 'Hmm' mean?"

"It means that Mr. Palmer noted down several irregularities in the cuts, but never mentioned them to me."

Tim read over Ducky's shoulder and saw written in Jimmy's scrawl: 'Five instances of irregular incisions. Straight for 9cm then cuts deeper and veers suddenly to the right for 1cm to 2cms.' He went on to catalog exactly where on the body the cuts were to be found.

"Hmm."

Ducky chuckled.

"Now, Timothy, it's your turn to tell me what 'Hmm' means."

"Oh," Tim said, looking up at Ducky. "It's just - the mentions of the abnormal cuts seem familiar."

Tim walked over the files and began looking through the files. The very first one he grabbed mentioned the abnormal cuts. Soon they made the same discovery Jimmy had - no matter what the reports said each of the victims had the abnormal slices.

Ducky began comparing reports at a rapid pace and scribbling down notes.

"Could you please retrieve Mr. Palmer from Abigail's lab? Maybe he can shed some light on this."

"Palmer hasn't been here for a long time, McGee," was Abby's answer when Tim reached her lab two minutes later and asked where Jimmy had gone. "I helped Ducky move the case files and we assumed he was in the bathroom. I thought he went back to autopsy after that."

"I'm afraid not," Ducky said, speaking over the video link between the lab and autopsy. "When did Mr. Palmer leave?"

"Not long before you got here, Ducky. I was just telling him about discovering traces of Cephalotaxus harringtonia - er, Japanese Plum Yew - in the plastic lining that Lance Corporal Jackson's body had been found in. Japanese Plum Yew is only found in one county in Virginia."

Tim's eyes narrowed in confusion.

"And he seemed surprised by that?"

"No - he disappeared. When I turned around he was gone."

Tim's gut began clawing at him then. Something was either very wrong with Jimmy, or something was going to go horribly wrong for him.

Tim sat down at his normal computer in Abby's lab and soon had a GPS track going on Jimmy's cell.

"He's 45 miles away from D.C., heading into Virginia. Where exactly is he heading, Abby?"

"Somewhere in Augusta County would be my guess - that's the location I was talking about when he left. But why did he leave without a word to anyone?"

Tim shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Uh, I think that might be my fault. I told him to ignore his gut feeling - that if Ducky didn't find his ideas to be pertinent then they probably weren't important. I didn't know he hadn't spoken to Ducky."

Abby sent him a glare that made him want to cower under the desk. He settled for flinching and turning back to the tracking program.

"I'm afraid I share that blame, Timothy," Ducky said over the video link. "Mr. Palmer tried to tell me something when we were still going over all the wounds on Lance Corporal Jackson's body. I was - short with him and didn't allow him to speak."

Abby sighed.

"Okay, so you're both to blame, but Palmer still should've let someone know he was leaving. Have you tried calling him, Ducky?"

She saw Ducky nod.

"He is not answering."

Tim pushed back from the table and stood up.

"I'm going after him. Abby, keep me updated on where he is and let me know when his car stops. Ducky - keep trying him and let me know if you get a hold of him."

Abby captured him in a quick but fierce hug.

"I'm sure Palmer's just fine - but be careful Timmy."

"I will Abs, I promise."

Tim made a stop in the bullpen to grab his gun from his drawer. Tony and Ziva were not yet back and Gibbs was still up in MTAC. He tried Ziva's number and had to leave her a voicemail. The same thing happened when he tried Tony's number so he had to resort to jotting down a quick note and leaving it on Gibbs' desk.

NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS

Over an hour later and Tim was beginning to catch up with Jimmy, thanks to his car. On the way out of the building he decided to forego the extra time it would take to check out a company car and just take his Porsche.

He didn't like to speed, but his car had the ability to purr into 80 miles per hour and he let her do it this time, hoping he wouldn't be pulled over - for his gut was telling him that would be a delay he couldn't afford. Something was on his side that day - God, karma, fate, destiny - whatever it was, he was grateful.

"_Okay, he just backtracked again,_" Abby said, her voice coming over the hands-free headset_. "He seems to know where he's going, but not exactly how to get there. I'm feeding your GPS the coordinates now."_

"Thanks Abs. Keep me updated."

Tim disconnected his phone and drove on, only to have Abby call again six minutes later.

"_He's come to a stop. I think he's reached his destination. You have the coor__**BLSTS**__."_

Tim couldn't help but jump at the loud burst of static.

"Hello. Abby?"

He got nothing but static - and then a dial tone - in return. One quick look at his phone told him he was definitely out of the service area. He just counted his blessings that the coordinates made it over before they lost their connection. There may have not been a cell phone tower nearby, but there was certainly a satellite somewhere overhead.

Ten minutes later he pulled up next to Jimmy's beat up old rust-and-green Coupe. He didn't take the time to marvel at the mansion that spread across the property. Instead his ears immediately tuned to the muffled sound of voices coming from around back.

Tim's gun was in his hand and his feet were moving before he really thought about what was going on. His gut had never stopped screaming at him. Somehow he knew that Jimmy was one of those voices and that he was in danger.

The sound of a single gunshot cemented that feeling - and caused him to run the last few yards. Caution had long ago been drummed into him and so he took a moment - just a moment - to peak around the corner of the mansion.

Jimmy was almost right next to him, with his hand wrapped around his right shoulder - doing nothing to block the flow of red that seeped into his scrubs. Across from him was a man who would have seemed right at home chatting with fellow well-to-dos in a country club - if he wasn't currently aiming a gun at another man and sporting a very out-of-place happy smile.

"Sorry Jimmy! I'm not used to doing this with people. Just stand still, it'll be over soon," the man said before squinting to line up a better shot.

Tim didn't even think, he just moved - his gun out front and aimed right for the man. Three things happened simultaneously: With his right hand Tim pushed Jimmy aside with a well-placed shove to his left shoulder - and the triggers of both guns were pulled.

Tim was a federal agent and he was trained to kill, not disarm. He only needed one shot to forever silence the man who was trying to kill his friend.

Jonathon McCrady practiced at shooting targets - and wasn't even very good at that. But all the same he only needed the one shot to bring Tim to his knees, hands clutched over his abdomen.

As Jimmy stared up at the sky - watching snowflakes falling - Tim stared down at his hands, watching with dispassionate curiosity as blood began to ooze out between his fingers.


	8. Chapter Seven

Pain. Excruciating pain.

Jimmy welcomed it, for it told him loud and clear that he was alive. Even better, when he mentally accessed himself, the only pain he was feeling - as agonizingly severe as it happened to be - was in his shoulder. He knew he was unlikely to die from a wound in his shoulder.

He turned his head sluggishly to the right - and spotted his former classmate - someone who he had once considered a close friend.

Jonathan was turned towards him, sightless eyes staring at nothing. He might have looked normal - like he was just enjoying laying on the ground on a chilly afternoon - if it weren't for the perfectly round hole in his forehead. Jimmy had seen enough gunshot wounds in his time to know that if he were to go behind the body it wouldn't be so pristine.

Jimmy realized that he was losing far too much blood, for he was feeling lethargic and his mind wasn't quite up to its normal standards. He recognized that it was odd that he wasn't really wondering who had killed Jonathon - but he couldn't quite bring himself to care. He was in pain but the initial cause of his pain was dead. Ergo - life was good.

The blasé attitude only lasted for several more seconds as his brain came back online and reminded him that life would only get better if he got up and got help.

It is a painful process sitting up when one arm was incapacitated and the other refused to give up its hold on his shoulder. Finally though he managed to make it to an upright position - his eyes squeezed shut, breathing through clenched teeth as he tried to get a handle on his pain.

When he was sure he wasn't going to keel over at the slightest movement he opened his eyes and saw Tim laying two feet away - curled on his side, arms hugging his stomach.

"McGee?" Jimmy called out as he scrambled to reach him, ignoring his own pain. There was someone that needed to be taken care of and his training from his long years at medical school kicked in. His friend needed help and that was all that mattered.

"McGee?" Jimmy said again as shifted to his knees once he was by Tim's side. He was relieved to see Tim's eyes open and seek out his own.

"Jimmy?"

"Yeah, McGee. Let me see," he said, and he grabbed Tim's hands and pulled them away. He only saw the wound for five seconds before Tim wrenched his hands away and clasped them back over the hole in his belly, but it was long enough.

"Tim, I'm going to have to move you. I need to see what's going on."

Tim thought about it for a few moments.

"No, I'm good."

He closed his eyes and curled into himself further.

Jimmy decided he needed to leave him be for a few more moments so he could get inside and call 911.

"I'll be right back."

Tim nodded, too busy trying to stay conscious - and alive - to pay much attention to Jimmy just then.

Jimmy was glad to find the back door unlocked and he walked right in, ending up in the kitchen. The phone was right next to the back door, an old fashioned version with a phone cord. He picked it up and dialed - 9-1-1.

"_911. What's your emergency?"_

"There are two gunshot victims in the backyard at -" he paused for a moment, trying to remember the address - forgetting that it had popped up the moment the dispatcher had answered her phone. Finally he had the address in mind and rattled it off. "One victim was shot in the Right Lower Quadrant Hypogastric Region - there is no exit wound. The other is a through-and-through in the left shoulder. No major nerve damage but it's bleeding profusely."

He could hear the dispatcher typing away as he spoke, but all he could think about was getting back outside to Tim.

"_I've dispatched two ambulances, but they are about twenty minutes away. If you'll stay on the line I'll walk you through how to help your friends."_

"No need ma'am. I know what I'm doing. This phone isn't cordless and my friend is outside. I've got to get back to him. Thank you for your help."

The whole process of calling had taken maybe two minutes, but by the time he returned to Tim's side he would've sworn that Tim was paler and his breathing was more labored. And Jimmy had learned long ago to trust his medical judgment.

"Tim," Jimmy said forcibly, and at the use of his first name Tim's eyes popped open, "There's an ambulance on its way but it's going to be about twenty minutes. I need to get more pressure on your wound, which means I'm going to have to move you. You have to trust me here."

It took a moment for Tim to absorb all of the information he had just been given, but soon he was nodding, albeit hesitantly, and trying to uncurl himself. But at every movement pain shot throughout him, from head to toe, and he found himself shaking his head.

"No, I'm good," he said once again.

Jimmy sighed.

"I'm not kidding, Tim. I'm going to have to move you. It's going to hurt and you're going to hate me, but it needs to be done."

With those words he grabbed Tim and gently rolled him on to his back. Tim gasped out and grit his teeth against a scream. Jimmy forced his hands away from the wound, only to replace them a moment later with his own hands. And then he pressed down.

This time there was no repressing the scream. Jimmy had a hard time not screaming himself as the pressure now on his shoulder sent piercing pain throughout his arm.

Jimmy watched Tim carefully, to see if he would pass out. It would probably be easier on him if he did, but instead Tim forced himself to overcome the pain and as soon as he was able to opened his eyes and looked up at Jimmy.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy."

"For what?" Jimmy asked, shocked by the words.

"I should have listened to you this morning." Tim took a deep breath as he fought through a lightning strike of pain that hit his nerves. When he was able to get a handle on the pain, he continued on.

"You knew something was going on and I told you to ignore it."

Jimmy shook his head."Don't worry about it McGee. I should have trusted myself enough to make my voice heard."

"I was wrong. Your gut works just fine."

He paused as his body instinctively tried to curl in on itself at that latest lash of pain. Jimmy wouldn't let him though, so he forced himself to continue on.

"It was the abnormal incisions that you noticed - that brought you here. Why?" He asked through a throat tight with pain.

Jimmy looked over his shoulder to the body of Jonathon.

"His name is Jonathon McCrady. He and I were in the same group for Gross Anatomy. He had a neurological problem where he twitched sometimes out of the blue - creating an abnormal incision. It happened so infrequently that it went unnoticed."

Even saturated in pain Tim was a perceptive person.

"Were you friends?"

Jimmy shook his head. Then he sighed and nodded.

"Jonathon was the best of us all. He was one of the few people that never joked about their cadaver. Beth and Craig - they were the other two people in our Gross Anatomy group - they named our cadaver Cad - short for, well, cadaver. But he rarely called him Cad and he always called the body 'Sir' before slicing into him and said 'Thank you' when he was done, no matter how much Beth and Craig teased him about it."

Jimmy could tell that his rambling was keeping Tim's complete focus from being on his pain, so he continued on.

"You know, Jonathon was the one that told me about the posting for an autopsy assistant at NCIS. He knew that I needed a job and that I wanted it to be medical related. He encouraged me to go for it, and was almost as happy as I was when I got it. It was because of him that I was able to get used to Ducky's tendency to talk to bodies so quickly. It's not that huge of a step to go from being polite to a body to talking to one."

Pain was ricocheting up and down his arms and his vision was starting to swim, but Tim's eyes were still focused intently on him, so Jimmy decided to just open up and start rambling - like he was prone to do sometimes.

"I always wanted to be a doctor, McGee, for as long as I can remember. I was going to be the one saving lives and performing brain surgery and telling kids that their mom or dad was going to be alright. I started memorizing the body in middle school. First organs, then the bones, then the muscles and so on. And once I knew all of that, I studied what they did and what could go wrong and how to fix it. I was great in med school, McGee, because I already knew half of what they were teaching and understood the basics of the rest.

"Once Jo- once I was told about the job posting I wanted the NCIS autopsy assistant job because I didn't want to forget the little things like muscles and bones and where they were and how things could go wrong if I didn't do my job right when I got out of medical school. But then we got to year three, where we were actually in a hospital learning by seeing and occasionally doing.

"Did you know there's a lot of deaths in hospitals? That sometimes no matter what a doctor does right, a patient will die? Life isn't fair like that, McGee. If you give the right medicine and the right care a patient should live.

"I got scared. Suddenly even though I knew all the right things to do I also knew that it just doesn't matter sometimes. I don't like failing, McGee. I don't like not doing things right. I think that's why I like autopsy. No one is going to die on me there." A giggle escaped from Jimmy and he nudged Tim with his knee. "Do you get it? No one's going to die on me because they're already dead!"

Jimmy realized then that Tim had passed out, and he had no idea when. Time had no concept to him anymore. They could've been there for twenty minutes already, or it could've been two. He wasn't sure. All he did know for sure was that his vision was beginning to tunnel and there was a ringing in his ears.

Except - there wasn't a ringing in his ears. Jimmy focused in and tried to pinpoint it, and finally realized that the ringing was coming from Jonathon's body.

Adrenaline shot through Jimmy and he jumped to his feet and ran over to the body, finding Jonathon's cell phone in his front pocket. It was expensive and fancy - and had service up in the hills of Virginia. Jimmy ran back to Tim's side and once again put pressure on the wound, a fresh wave of blood oozing out between his fingers. He frowned when there wasn't one sound from Tim.

It was time for him to call NCIS and fill everyone in on what was going on. It wasn't a conversation he was looking forward to - nor one he particularly felt up to delivering.

NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS

Tony and Ziva had returned to the bullpen about thirty minutes after Tim left the building. They didn't consider it unusual that both Gibbs' and Tim's desks were empty, so they sat down and got to work running the searches they hadn't been able to pawn off on Tim, since he hadn't been answering his phone.

Tony was startled from his work by the ringing of his phone. A look at the ID told him that the call was being forwarded up from the switchboard. He bit back a sigh. Calls coming up from the switchboard had a tendency to be weird.

"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo speaking."

Silence.

"Hello?"

"_It's my fault."_

"What?"

"_It's my fault, Tony. I should've told you guys what I suspected. This is my fault."_

"Palmer?"

Ziva looked up from her work at the confused tone of her coworker.

"_I was the same year at med school with him and I knew he twitched sometimes when he did an incision. But I'm not an investigator so I was afraid to tell you."_

"Palmer, what's going on?"

At this Ziva moved quickly over to try to catch the other end of the conversation.

"_He has a cabin in Virginia_ _and last I heard he was living up here so I decided to talk to him. It was stupid of me. He was crazy Tony, really crazy."_

"Are you okay, Palmer? You don't sound so good."

"_I was shot." _He said in the same tone of voice as one would say 'I just bought a new pen.'

"What?" Tony yelled out, shocked by this statement.

Ziva's eyebrows shot up - she'd had no problem hearing that part.

"_I was shot. Jonathon was going to kill me, but McGee saved me."_

"McGee's with you?"

"_Yeah, he is. Ducky's going to have to make the trip up here to get Jonathon. He's a little bit dead right now. And I'm _not_ going to call him sir!"_

"Palmer - you're not making a lot of sense right now."

"_Oh. Uh - the ambulance is on its way . The bleeding has almost stopped but I don't think that's really such a good thing. And it's so cold outside."_

Tony shook his head. He wasn't sure why Jimmy was the one on the phone. He wondered if Tim wasn't maybe guarding the body.

"Okay, Jimmy. I'm sure the ambulance will be there for you soon. Why don't you let me talk to McGee and maybe he can give me some directions and we'll come up and process the scene. You sound like you need to lay down."

The silence on Jimmy's end began to stretch longer and longer. Anxiety began to claw at Tony's stomach as he began to seriously wonder why Jimmy was the one on the phone if Tim was okay.

"_McGee was shot saving me, Tony."_

For the first time during the conversation Jimmy sounded like he was finally all there.

"_Abdominal shot. Below the bellybutton right into the intestines. He's really not doing so well."_

Tony startled at the sound of a dial tone. He looked up at Ziva and saw that his concern was mirrored on her face. He wondered if she, too, was trying not to panic at the thought of their partner 'not doing so well.'

NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS

Jimmy stared at the phone in his hand and sighed when he realized it had died. He tossed it aside and once again put pressure on the wound with both hands. He frowned at the blood pooling between his fingers, no longer seeping out like it had minutes before.

_This is my fault_.

The same substance dripped from his shoulder, slowly adding to the growing pool soaking into the fabric of his pants where he kneeled.

_I should've moved faster._

Pain shot down his shoulder and numbed his hands, but he kept constant pressure on the wound.

_I shouldn't be here._

A breath hitched painfully in Tim's chest.

_He shouldn't be here at all._

He could see Jonathon's body out of the corner of his eye.

_This is my fault._

Jimmy knew that the situation was desperate. One dead. One severely wounded. And the pain in his own arm was intensifying along the same rate that Tim's breaths were decreasing.

Black dots danced before his eyes as his own not-insignificant blood loss caught up with him. His elbows buckled and he slumped over, his entire body now covering the bullet hole in the stomach of his co-worker.

"This never should have happened," he whispered to the wind before he gave in and welcomed the all-encompassing darkness with a bitter smile.


	9. Chapter Eight

Tony jumped up from his chair, ready for action.

Except he wasn't sure what that action should be.

"We don't know where they are except somewhere in Virginia - and Virginia isn't really that small of a state," Tony said, more than just slightly agitated. He didn't like not knowing what to do, and the thought of his friend 'not doing so well' was stopping all rational thoughts from entering his head.

"We could get Abby to run a GPS trace on McGee's or Palmer's phone," Ziva suggested.

"Yeah, that could work," Tony said, relieved to have something to do. He was about to turn to go make the trip downstairs when a voice froze him in his tracks.

"How long have you been back?"

Tony and Ziva looked up to see Gibbs heading down the stairs. His tone hadn't been very pleasant. They glanced at each other and Tony gave Ziva a nod, letting her know he would break the news.

"Maybe an hour," Tony said, "but Boss-"

Gibbs didn't let him finish as he was already at Tim's desk, glaring at his monitor.

"Where the hell is McGee? I told him to let me know when you got back. He's got -"

"Boss!" Tony yelled. Gibbs' head snapped up, an unpleasant look to match the irritable tone of his voice.

"McGee was -"

"GibbsGibbsGibbsGibbsGibbs!" Abby yelled as she ran into the room, followed by Ducky at an only slightly slower speed. "We haven't heard from them and we can't get a hold of them and we don't know what's going on!"

"Abby, what are you -"

"McGee was shot!" Tony yelled, causing a vacuum of noise as all turned to stare at him. Lowering his voice, but not the urgency of his tone, Tony continued on. "We heard from Palmer just two minutes ago. He said that he and McGee had been shot and McGee's not doing too well. He didn't say where he'd been shot but he said McGee was shot in the abdomen. We lost contact with him before I could ask anything more."

From that moment on the bullpen was a chaotic whirlwind of hand gestures, pacing and moving between computers as everyone compared notes and explained to each other what they knew about the situation as quickly as possible. Then they had to pinpoint exactly which hospital Tim and Jimmy would most likely be taken to.

After that it was just a matter of Gibbs getting another team to make the trip to Augusta County to process the crime scene and Ducky calling in a favor from a colleague.

Within twenty minutes they were loaded into one car and heading for Augusta County Hospital in Fishersville, Virginia - an all-too-far three hours away. Tony, Abby and Ducky sat in the back with Ziva and Gibbs up front.

Ziva drove.

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Thirty minutes into the drive Tony's cell phone chirped to let him know he had a voicemail.

"Your phone didn't even ring," Ducky said, confused.

And then he watched as Tony paled as he listened to the message. It didn't escape Abby's notice either.

"What's wrong?" she asked with a frantic edge to her voice, her nerves already frayed to the nth degree.

"That was a message from McGee that he left hours ago, letting me know he was heading for Virginia," Tony said. He let out a short unamused bark of laughter. "My stupid phone has been doing this for weeks now - not giving me my messages until hours after they're left. I guess it's time to change services."

Gibbs glared at him and then turned to Ziva.

"And McGee didn't try calling you?"

A soft blush brushed her cheeks.

"I forgot my cell at home this morning. I didn't think it was important enough to run back and get because I was with Tony all day."

Gibbs had to fight the urge to headslap her - her driving was scary enough without brain damage.

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Just a little over two hours after they left D.C. they reached their destination. All of them tumbled out of the car and ran into the hospital, not concerned about making a dignified and professional entrance. The poor woman at the reception area was the same women who had answered the phone each of the five times Gibbs called - and the ten times Tony called. She had refused to give them any more information other than that Jimmy was "serious" and Tim was "critical." By the sixth call she would answer, calmly say "No change" and then hang up.

"We're looking for Special Agent Timothy McGee and Jimmy Palmer, " Gibbs said tersely as he reached the reception area. The other four crowded up close behind him, staring the receptionist down.

The woman behind the counter slowly looked up from her work. Her glare smoothed out into understanding when she saw how anxious and worried the people standing before her were.

"I wondered when you would get here," she said, giving them a soft smile. "Unfortunately there's still no change."

Ducky took over then, gently bumping Gibbs out of the way.

"Hello my dear. I am Dr. Donald Mallard and I work with Jimmy Palmer and Agent McGee. Is there any way you can tell me what is going on with them?"

As so many people had before her, Shirley Yonker was immediately swayed by the gentle smile and soft British accent of Ducky.

"Well…" she hesitated before shrugging. "I can tell you that both Mr. Palmer and Mr. McGee are currently in surgery. If you head up to the third floor you'll find the waiting room for surgery. I'll send a message up to let them know that you're here for both of them."

Shirley smiled at Ducky.

"You can try to convince their surgeons to talk to you when they're out of surgery Dr. Mallard." She gave him a wink and was delighted when he winked back.

"Thank you very much for your help, my dear."

Ducky turned away and the smile dropped from his lips. Everyone had to scramble to catch up with him when we began to all but speed walk away.

NCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS

An hour and a half later found them sprawled out in the waiting room.

Ducky and Abby shared a couch. Ducky flipped methodically through a magazine on fishing that had been discarded on the coffee table. He would finish with it and then go back to the beginning again. Abby was tucked up against Ducky with her feet curled up on the couch. Her eyes never left the Employees Only doors that kept her from getting closer to her friends.

Gibbs had a love seat to himself. A nearly-empty coffee cup was clasped in one hand and another cup sat next to him on an end table. The cushion next to him was occupied by a newspaper that he had looked through but hadn't really read.

Ziva sat on the edge of one of the hard-backed chairs. She would polish her knife, examine it closely and spin it a few times before repeating the process. Early on one of the nurses had walked over to tell her to put it away, but a triple-threat glare from Ziva, Gibbs and Tony caused her to spin in her tracks and walk away.

Tony was slumped bonelessly in a comfortably cushy chair and gave every appearance of being asleep. But he was the first on his feet when the Employees Only swung open for the first time since they had been sitting there. The rest of them followed a moment later.

A doctor stood there, looking tired but satisfied.

"Anyone here for Jimmy Palmer?"

Ducky made it to the doctor before anyone else.

"Yes, we are."

The doctor smiled. She always preferred for there to be many anxious people worried about a patient than for there to be no one there at all. Although usually the anxious friends and family weren't such a strange group as this one.

"I am Dr. Gina Wright and I performed the surgery on Mr. Palmer's shoulder. The bullet managed to miss the major nerve and blood vessels but there was quite a bit of muscle damage and tearing after the fact. He will more than likely need physical therapy."

"When shall we be able to see him?" Ducky interjected.

"As soon as he's out of recovery and into his room you will be informed by one of the nurses."

Gina grinned then, despite the anxious looks she was receiving.

"Shirley - the woman that was at reception when you came in - called up and warned us about the lot of you. She also took it upon herself to call your NCIS and get medical records sent over. It seems like both Mr. Palmer and Agent McGee have listed you as a medical proxy, Dr. Mallard," Gina said, nodding at the older gentleman Shirley had described.

"Hmm, I don't remember signing those forms," Ducky said, a bit confused.

Gibbs coughed behind him.

"Jethro?" Ducky turned and lifted his eyebrows, clearly asking for an explanation.

"They were in a stack of papers you were signing to get off your desk. You're a proxy for all of us."

Ducky narrowed his eyes.

"I would've been happy to sign them without the subterfuge."

Gibbs shrugged. "It was after Kate, Duck. You weren't too open to hearing about anyone else being hurt."

Ducky nodded reluctantly, "Well, yes, I suppose."

Then his eyes lit up as he turned back to Gina, who had been watching with barely-hidden amusement.

"This means then that you can tell me about Timothy."

Gina couldn't help it anymore - she grinned.

"Yes, yes I can. And I'm going to pretend that no one else is here for I'm sure you would just repeat everything as soon as I was gone."

A small smile was her answer.

Her own smile dropped away as she switched into professional mode.

"Okay then. I just checked on Agent McGee and he is still in surgery. The bullet ricocheted around his abdominal cavity but did the most damage to his intestines. They're still working on repairing that damage, but Agent McGee should be out of surgery within the next two hours. He'll have to be kept in intensive care for a while - he's at a high risk for sepsis."

Ducky nodded knowingly.

"Agent McGee's doctor is Dr. Greg Peterson. He'll be informed as soon as he's out of surgery to come out here to fill you in on Agent McGee's condition. In the meantime I will be in the on call room, but if you need to speak to me please don't hesitate to get one of the nurses to come get me."

"No, no my dear. You get some sleep. We'll be just fine out here," Ducky said, patting Gina on the arm.

Gina smiled gratefully and turned to leave. Then she remembered one more thing.

"Oh, Shirley has a message for you." Gina dug a piece of paper from her pocket. "She said: 'Tell that bunch from NCIS that when I called medical records for Palmer and McGee I eventually ended up speaking to a Director Vance. Warn them that he didn't seem too pleased that I was informing him that one of his best agents and his autopsy assistant were both in a hospital in the middle-of-nowhere Virginia.'"

Gina lowered the piece of paper and then had to walk away quickly before she started laughing at the five comically paling faces. She managed to make it to the on call room before bursting out into laughter.

"Jethro, I do believe that as team leader you have the honor of calling Director Vance and filling him in," Ducky said, trying not to grin.

Gibbs looked from Ziva, to Tony, to Abby. To a one they were all looking at anything else but him. He bit back a sigh and left to go explain everything to Vance - as much as they knew, at least.


	10. Chapter Nine

Two hours later it was as if Dr. Wright had never walked out the doors and talked to them. Everyone was in the same positions as before - although there were two more discarded coffee cups sitting my Gibbs' side and Ducky was now reading _Parenting_ magazine.

It had taken a good forty-five minutes to sooth things out with Vance, for by the time Gibbs had called Vance had another grievance - a body had arrived from Langley and he had felt like a fool when he had no idea what was going on - nor where his MCRT, second tier MCRT, Medical Examiner and lab technician had disappeared to.

It had taken one heartfelt and genuine - but hard to come by - "Leon, please," for Vance to allow them all to stay for the rest of the day. He demanded that they be back bright and early the next day - or by 9 a.m. at least. Gibbs had almost been able to hear the smile in Vance's voice. It was generous of Vance considering there was a body in the morgue for Ducky to autopsy and there would be evidence in the lab for Abby to process - at least there would be as soon as Rosson and her team brought it back.

But that had been an hour and fifteen minutes ago and Gibbs was feeling antsier by the second. Jimmy should have been settled in long ago and there should have been word about Tim - but nothing came from either front.

It was thanks to Gibbs' antsyness that this time he was the first to his feet when the Employees Only door swung open. It took Tony a moment because this time he truly had been asleep - and so had Abby, so Ducky had to wait for her to wake up. But soon the doctor and nurse who had exited were surrounded.

"I take it you're here for Agent McGee and Jimmy Palmer?" The nurse said, seeing as the doctor was in mid-yawn.

"Yes, we are. I'm Dr. Donald Mallard and I'm a medical proxy for both gentleman," Ducky said, stepping to the front of the group.

"So we've been informed," the doctor said, amused despite the exhaustion rimming his eyes. "I'm Dr. Greg Peterson. Agent McGee came through surgery just fine. However, he did lose a lot of blood before he got to us and he did have a bullet bouncing around in his abdomen so he is going to have to stay with us for the next couple of days."

He paused to stifle another yawn.

"I'm sorry about that - it's been a long day for everyone around here."

Then he turned to the nurse - whose nametag said Vicki - and nodded to her.

"Okay, we've got Mr. Palmer settled into a private room. We had to wait until he regained consciousness at least once before we moved him."

Ducky nodded in understanding.

"Now, I know you're going to want to see both of them," Greg said, "but we're going to have to limit you to two people at a time for Agent McGee, and only for ten minutes. After you've all had a turn I'm going to have to ask you to leave him for the rest of the night."

Vicki broke in then.

"The rest of you are welcome to see Mr. Palmer. He's awake right now, although he is groggy. If you would follow me I will bring you first to Agent McGee and then to Mr. Palmer."

They all followed her - leaving behind a waiting room full of the detritus of a family waiting to hear word on the fate of their loved ones.

NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS

Outside of the door to Tim's room there was no contest as to who was going in first - Gibbs and Abby didn't allow anyone else to even try to enter. They walked in without a look to anyone else.

Ducky followed Vicki eagerly and Tony and Ziva reluctantly followed. As much as they were looking forward to seeing their autopsy gremlin they had wanted to see their partner - their friend - first.

Down a level and past several occupied rooms they finally arrived to Jimmy's room. Vicki ushered them inside and then left them there, looking at her watch as she headed back towards Tim's room.

Jimmy had been staring out the window, which afforded the view of snow drifting in the dark. He turned to the door when he heard them enter. His glasses only served to intensify the raccoon tiredness of his eyes, but a weak smile perked up the paleness of his face.

"Hey guys," he croaked out, and then winced at the sound of his own voice.

Ducky was by his side with a glass of water in his hands almost before he could blink.

"How are you feeling, Jimmy?"

Jimmy blinked at him several times, mentally accessing. Finally he shrugged - and his eyes slammed shut from the resulting pain. His left hand moved to clasp over the wound - just like it had when the bullet had pierced his shoulder - but he found his hand grasped in another. He slowly opened his eyes to find Ziva standing next to him, smiling.

"You will hurt yourself more if you touch it right now," she said, a voice of authority on the subject of wounds. He gave his hand a squeeze before laying his arm back down and releasing him from her grasp.

Jimmy smiled shyly at her in thanks. His eyes shifted then to Tony, who was standing next to Ziva.

"Hey Palmer, you look a lot better than you sounded on the phone," Tony said, grinning down at him, but Jimmy could tell that his heart wasn't in the grin. And it took all of two seconds to figure out why.

"Ducky," Jimmy said, turning back to his mentor, "Do you know how McGee is doing?"

"He came out of surgery just fine, so don't worry about him right now. Worry about getting yourself better so I can get my assistant back," Ducky teased, smiling down at him.

Jimmy didn't return the smile though.

"It's my fault though, Ducky. I shouldn't have gone out there on my own. I should have let someone know I was going. I didn't even realize that McGee was there and then he was pushing me out of the way and - and he killed Jonathon with one shot. But Jonathon got him too and - and there was so much blood, Ducky. It looked like a crime scene but he was still breathing and in a lot of pain. He saved me and I almost got him killed because I was afraid to be wrong about Jonathon."

By this time Jimmy was breathing hard and obviously agitated, but he calmed down immediately when Ducky placed a gentle hand in the middle of his chest.

"Hush now. You have nothing to be sorry about. As much as Timothy saved your life out there I have no doubt that you saved his life, to the detriment of your own wound."

Jimmy looked up at him, a question clear in his eyes.

"Your surgeon mentioned that there was a bit of tearing in your shoulder - which means that you looked after Timothy above your own health. Don't worry though, she said that you will be just fine after some physical therapy."

Relief filled Jimmy's eyes - he truly hadn't been thinking about the damage he was doing to himself in order to save Tim. But all the physical therapy in the world was worth it to know that Tim would be okay.

Ducky watched as Jimmy blinked slowly - sleepily. He gently took his glasses off and laid them on the side table.

"Go to sleep, my boy. You need to rest."

Jimmy dragged his eyes open.

"Don't leave without saying goodbye, okay?"

"I promise. Now close your eyes and get some sleep."

Jimmy promptly did just so.

NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS

Tony and Ziva left the room then, leaving Ducky to sit by his assistant. They were just in time too, for Gibbs and Abby were returning, escorted by Vicki.

"How is he?" was asked in unison by Tony and Abby.

Tony smiled and nodded for Abby to go first.

"Timmy - well, Timmy doesn't look so great. But Vicki assured me that he's going to be okay."

"And he is, as long as he's allowed proper rest," Vicki said, softening her words with a smile at the Goth.

"What about Jimmy?" Abby asked.

"He looks good," Ziva said. "He just fell asleep though, so I would be quiet or else Ducky might yell."

They all peeked into the room and saw Ducky managing to appear like he was hovering over Jimmy, even though he was sitting in the chair next to him. It was the smoothing of his sheets, the rearranging of his IV, the gentle touch of his hand - like Ducky needed to remind himself that Jimmy was really there and really going to be okay.

"We'll stay out here," Gibbs said, and grabbed Abby's elbow to guide her to a nearby waiting area.

"Are you ready to see Agent McGee?" Vicki asked, and had to smile when Tony nodded enthusiastically. "Well then, follow me."

They quickly retraced their steps - past several occupied rooms and up a level - and soon found themselves back at Tim's room. Vicki reminded them of the ten minute limit and the left them standing in the doorway.

Ziva walked right in and stood next to Tim's bed, but Tony found himself frozen in the doorway.

The last time he had seen a teammate in a hospital it had been Gibbs - right before he had fled to Mexico. As bad as Gibbs had looked - scraped up and in a restless coma - somehow that paled in comparison to seeing Tim in a hospital bed.

Tim was always moving - typing, running between the bullpen and the lab - fidgeting annoyingly during a long car ride, using his phone to search for - whatever it was that he normally searched for. This was the first time in a long time Tony had seen Tim completely still. Since Somalia, actually, and that didn't necessarily bring back completely pleasant memories either.

Wires ran to Tim and from Tim - feeding him, hydrating him… "dehydrating" him - monitoring his heartbeat and brainwaves. It was too much to take in at once and for a brief moment Tony wanted to turn around and walk away and not have to deal with it all.

"Tony," Ziva said softly, breaking him from his thoughts. "McGee is okay - and he will _be_ okay."

Tony smiled at her. She always knew exactly what he needed to hear.

He entered the room and stood on the opposite side of the bed that Ziva stood on. He took a good look at his Probie and saw the thick padding under the blankets that denoted bandages surrounding the wound. He saw the paleness of his skin and the nasal cannula helping him breathe. But he mentally discarded all of that and instead concentrated on listening to the steady heartbeat and watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Ten minutes passed quickly and soon Vicki was at the doorway, whispering a pointed "Ahem!"

Tony and Ziva reluctantly left their friend - Ziva with a soft kiss to his cheek and Tony with a gentle squeeze of his hand - and followed Vicki back to Jimmy's room.

Before Ducky left to see Tim they all had a quick chat and decided that once Ducky returned they would start back for D.C.

Once Ducky was gone they took turns going in to see to Jimmy, who - although exhausted - was once again awake in order to say a quick goodnight to them.

Tony was the last in the room.

"I'm glad you're all right," Tony said and he held up his hand for an awkward left-handed high five. Jimmy grinned and obliged. But instead of simply allowing their hands to slap each other, Tony grabbed a hold and pulled Jimmy into a gentle version of a man hug. Jimmy was surprised for several beats but finally he relaxed in to it.

"Don't ever do anything that stupid again," Tony said as he pulled away. He tried to glare at Jimmy but he couldn't quite manage it. "We just finally broke you in and it would take too long to break in a new autopsy gremlin."

Jimmy let out a tiny chuckle.

Tony hesitated a moment before leaning in closer.

"Also - thank you for saving McGee."

Jimmy nodded. He wanted to argue and point out that Tim had been the one to save him first - but Tony was already walking out the door.

Sleep took him soon after and he slept the night through - missing the gentle brush of a hand on his forehead and the affectionate "Goodnight, Mr. Palmer" before he was left in peace for the rest of the night.


	11. Chapter Ten

Work had to continue on, and all five of them were back at it by 7 a.m. the next day.

Rosson and her team were staying on the McCrady case - per Vance's orders - but she didn't begrudge Gibbs and his team a look at the evidence. So they saw for the first time the images of the blood-soaked ground still marked with the outline of Tim's torso. Tony stared at the images for quite awhile before standing up and walking away. He found himself in autopsy, glaring down at the body of Jonathon McCrady.

When Ducky performed the autopsy later on that day Tony stood by and watched, for the first time ever reveling in the sound of ribs being cracked open and the whirl and crunch of a bone saw.

It was the only place he could be right then. If he had to sit in the bullpen and work on the stack of cold cases Vance had shoved at them he would pull his hair out. Since he couldn't be in Fishersville with Barber and Cooperton from Rosson's team to help with the interviewing of Tim and Jimmy, he would content himself with watching Ducky slowly dismantle McCrady organ by organ.

"You're not usually so keen on watching me work, Anthony," Ducky commented as he wrenched the heart out of Jonathon McCrady with probably a little too much gusto to be considered professional.

"I read some of his journals, Ducky." Tony said rather than commenting on his presence.

"Ah, yes. How kind of him to meticulously detail the murders he committed. There is no doubt that this man killed all of those people," Ducky said as he placed the heart on a scale.

"Yeah, because they were nice and he wanted to let them do one last good deed." Tony watched as Ducky marked down how much the heart weighed, the whole process taking longer without an assistant. "Do you think he was a psychopath?"

Ducky stopped then to look at Tony. He was leaning casually next to the door, but every inch of him was anxious energy. He clearly wanted to be anywhere but here - and that anywhere was three hours away.

"No, I don't think so. McCrady detailed everything. He was trying to figure out a way to predict when he was going to twitch, and he was getting close. His first victims had three times as many irregular incisions as Lance Corporal Jackson did. Beverly and her team found applications filled out to various small hospitals across the country and even in other countries - ones that would probably not ask too many questions. He was doing this so that he wouldn't hurt anyone in the future when he started practicing again. So, was he morally misguided and more than a little off-balance mentally speaking? Certainly. A psychopath? No."

Ducky picked the heart back up then and sent a stern look towards Tony.

"Now, Anthony, I do know you have better things to do than stand there and watch this. Go back upstairs before I requisition you as my temporary lab assistant. You should know that my next autopsy is a rather large man who has these strange pustules all over his body…"

But he didn't have to say any more for Tony was already fleeing.

Ducky turned to the body and glared. He couldn't remember the last time he had performed an autopsy on someone he loathed quite as much as Jonathon McCrady. But he squared his shoulders and got back to work, for once he was done he could pack up and head for Virginia.

There were no other bodies in the morgue.

NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS

When Tony got back upstairs Angela Barber and Will Cooperton were back. He had barely walked up to them when they handed him a copy of the notes that Cooperton had typed up on the drive back and printed out the moment they got in the building. Everyone knew Gibbs and his team and they didn't even try fighting the flow of information - they just handed it over and got Tony out of their space.

Tony sat down at his desk and spared a moment to smile at the sight of Gibbs and Ziva each buried in their own copies of the notes.

By the time he was done reading Tony thought he understood the gist of the sequence of events that had occurred over two days.

Jimmy had tried to tell Ducky that he thought the abnormal incisions were significant, but Ducky cut him off. When he approached Tim about it, Tim shot him down because he was in too bad of a mood to pay any attention to what Jimmy was really saying.

When Jimmy realized he was really on to something, he was afraid of saying something since both Ducky and Tim hadn't thought what he had to say was of any importance. So he took a risk and went to find out for himself if he was right. He found Jonathon McCrady and found him to be undeniably guilty. And McCrady found the perfect last victim he had been on the search for.

When Abby, Ducky and Tim discovered that Jimmy was missing - and that he was apparently heading for the murderer - Tim felt horribly guilty. So he went after Jimmy. And reached him just in time to save his life and almost lose his own.

Tony sat back and tried to brush off feelings of guilt. If he hadn't been more than just a complete jerk towards Tim would things have happened differently?

"DiNozzo!"

Gibbs' bark tore Tony from his guilt and he sat up straight.

"Yes Boss?"

"You are completely useless today."

There was no derision or blame in Gibbs' voice - he was being matter-of-fact.

"Yeah Boss," Tony admitted.

Gibbs glanced at the clock - 3 p.m.

"Get out of here."

Tony didn't need to be told twice. With a "Thanks Boss!" he was packed up and gone in less than a minute.

Ziva glared at Gibbs reproachfully. He just shook his head and went back to looking at another mind-numbing cold case. Tony obviously needed to see for himself once and for all that Tim was going to be okay. Gibbs wasn't going to begrudge him that, especially since he would be heading for the hospital right after work for much the same reason.

NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS

Tony headed right for Virginia. He didn't stop at home, he didn't get anything to eat - he just got in his car and drove. He blasted the radio and sang along to whatever happened to come on - anything to take his mind off the thought that the hospital was three hours way. But eventually - while singing a resounding rendition of _Teardrops on My Guitar_ - he pulled into the parking lot.

This time he didn't hesitate - he just walked right into Tim's room and sat down in the chair that was next to the heart monitor, and patiently waited for him to wake up.

But it ended up being Tim who woke Tony up, for the rhythmic beat of Tim's heart had eventually lulled Tony into a deep sleep.

"Tony? Tony, wake up!"

At the sound of Tim's voice Tony startled awake and immediately groaned and clapped a hand to his aching neck.

"Sorry to wake you, but you looked really uncomfortable."

Tony stood up and stepped closer to the bed, forcing Tim to switch his line of sight. Tony stared at Tim and mentally catalogued the changes from just the night before. The nasal cannula was gone and - although still far too pale - there was definitely more color in his face. And, better yet, he was sitting up and talking. And he sounded strong.

"Tony?"

Tony startled from his thoughts and grinned down at Tim.

"Sorry Probie. You - you look much better than you did last night." Tony surprised himself in his honesty. He just couldn't bring himself to tease Tim just then.

Tim looked surprised.

"You were here last night?"

"Of course I was - we all were. No one let you know that?"

Tim shook his head. "I know that Jimmy is a floor down from me, but honestly I've been sleeping so much I probably wouldn't notice if Angelina Jolie was here visiting me."

Tony laughed.

"I'm pretty sure you would notice that much, Probie!"

"What time is it?"

Tony looked at his watch.

"A little after seven."

Tim gave him a confused look.

"I thought it was Friday?"

"It is."

"Then what are you doing here? D.C. isn't exactly right around the corner."

Tony shifted from one foot to the other before just deciding to confess.

"I wasn't getting much work done so Gibbs told me to just go."

"Why, what's wrong?"

Tony rolled his eyes at his dense friend.

"You're in the hospital! That's what's wrong."

Tim still looked confused and Tony shook his head and sighed.

"Look, Tim, I've got a confession to make."

"Oh?" Tim said, more intrigued by the use of his name than Tony's pending confession.

"The other night - when Gibbs told Ziva and I to go home - he included you in that. He didn't notice you weren't at your desk, and I knew you were in the conference room. But I decided to just leave you there. And then I was in such a bad mood yesterday morning that I decided you needed to be in one too."

Tim was amazed at the contrite look on Tony's face - it was a look he'd never seen before.

"So what?"

Tony's eyes shot open in surprise.

"So… I put you in a bad mood for the rest of the day."

Tim laughed for a brief moment before a shot of pain in his abdomen brought that to a halt. He took a moment to get his breath back.

"You all right?" Tony asked, coming close to hovering worriedly over him.

Tim waved him off.

"I'm good. Look, so what if you were in a bad mood? Your moods shouldn't dictate my moods. I was in a bad mood because I wanted to be in a bad mood. I should have listened to Jimmy when he came to me and I even knew it at the time, but I chose not to - and that has nothing to do with you."

Tony shook his head.

"If you won't let me blame myself for all of this then you can't blame yourself either. It's just something that happened."

Tim wasn't quite ready to believe that, but he smiled all the same.

"Look, Tim - the next time I'm in a really vile mood like I was that morning, lock me in a room and make me talk - as long as you don't mind me complaining on and on about my father."

Tim looked up at Tony, eyes wide, but he nodded.

"Deal?" Tony said, holding out his hand.

"Deal." Tim whispered and shook Tony's hand with the appropriate gravity for the moment.

Finally Tony broke out into a smile and pulled the chair closer so he could sit down.

"Now, Probie, do tell me about the nurses on this floor!"

Tim chuckled lightly, glad to see the normal Tony back.

NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS

Ducky arrived at the hospital about two hours after Tony did, although he had no idea that anyone else was already there. He had finished up the autopsy - making sure he did everything perfectly right to avoid any problems in the future - and then he just left. Abby would probably be mad that he hadn't taken her with him, but there was only one thing on his mind right then - clearing the air with Jimmy.

Jimmy was sitting up and watching TV when Ducky walked in. He turned to the door and lit up with a big grin when he saw Ducky standing there.

"Ducky! I didn't expect to see anyone today! Well, outside of Angela and Will, anyways. What are you doing here? And so early in the evening? Shouldn't you still be at work? Not that I'm not glad that you're here…" Jimmy trailed off with a blush, realizing that he was rambling.

Ducky couldn't help but smile as he stepped up next to Jimmy, who submitted to a cursory examination of his injuries.

"No infection. That's good," Ducky told him. "How does it feel?"

Jimmy shrugged - and then winced. He grinned ruefully. "I would feel pretty good if I could just remember not to shrug."

Ducky had to laugh at that.

"Well, your spirits are definitely up," he said as he pulled a chair closer to the side of the bed.

Ducky quieted then, and Jimmy picked up on the mood change. He sat back and braced himself to be yelled at. So when the words "I owe you an apology" came out of Ducky's mouth he wasn't sure how to react.

"Wha…?" Was the non-word that fell from his dropped jaw.

"I did you wrong, Jimmy, and I am terribly sorry for that."

Jimmy shook his head.

"No! You did nothing wrong. What are you talking about?"

"Let me speak Mr. Palmer," Ducky said with a touch of sternness. Then he softened. "I need to tell you this Jimmy, because I don't want this on my conscience for a moment longer."

Jimmy had to force his jaw to stay shut - he didn't want to look undignified twice in such a short span. Instead he just nodded.

"You tried to tell me that the imperfect and abnormal incision marks were important, but I didn't want to listen to you. My night had not gone well the day before and I let that affect my interactions with you. I'm not telling you this as an excuse, because what I did was inexcusable - I'm just explaining to you why I did what I did."

Jimmy nodded, sensing Ducky wasn't done yet, but wanting to let him know that he was paying attention.

"If I ever try to brush you aside or dismiss your ideas again - do not let me. I'm human. I am going to have bad days and I need you to call me on it when I do. You have been my assistant for over six years now, Jimmy, and I trust your judgment implicitly. Don't ever forget that and don't ever let me forget that."

Jimmy's jaw was now dropped as far as it would go. He snapped it shut and turned his head, trying not to let Ducky see that he had tears in his eyes.

Ducky saw, and felt a moment of shame that Jimmy had to end up in a hospital bed before he finally told him just exactly how much he was trusted and respected. But Ducky brushed aside the shame and instead grabbed Jimmy's hand. There was a moment of hesitation before Jimmy returned the grasp.

On two different floors two men sat and silently thanked every being in the universe that they got the chance to clear their conscience. And when each man made the person they were closest to in their life laugh, they forgot about themselves and just thanked the universe itself that their friend was still alive.


End file.
